FullReads

Footman. Yes, m’m.

Isabel. And–wait. (With an effort.) You may tell me when the man has started. I shall wait here till then. Be sure you let me know.

Footman. Yes, m’m. (He goes out.)

Isabel (sinking into a chair and hiding her face). Ah! (After a moment she rises, taking up her gloves and sunshade, and walks toward the window which opens on the lawn.) I’m so tired. (She hesitates and turns back into the room.) Where can I go to? (She sits down again by the tea- table, and bends over the kettle. The clock strikes half-past five.)

Isabel (picking up her sunshade, walks back to the window). If I must meet one of them…

Oberville (speaking in the hall). Thanks. I’ll take tea first. (He enters the room, and pauses doubtfully on seeing Isabel.)

Isabel (stepping towards him with a smile). It’s not that I’ve changed, of course, but only that I happened to have my back to the light. Isn’t that what you are going to say?

Oberville. Mrs. Warland!

Isabel. So you really have become a great man! They always remember people’s names.

Oberville. Were you afraid I was going to call you Isabel?

Isabel. Bravo! Crescendo!

Oberville. But you have changed, all the same.

Isabel. You must indeed have reached a dizzy eminence, since you can indulge yourself by speaking the truth!

Oberville. It’s your voice. I knew it at once, and yet it’s different.

Isabel. I hope it can still convey the pleasure I feel in seeing an old friend. (She holds out her hand. He takes it.) You know, I suppose, that Mrs. Raynor is not here to receive you? She was called away this morning very suddenly by her aunt’s illness.

Oberville. Yes. She left a note for me. (Absently.) I’m sorry to hear of Mrs. Griscom’s illness.

Isabel. Oh, Mrs. Griscom’s illnesses are less alarming than her recoveries. But I am forgetting to offer you any tea. (She hands him a cup.) I remember you liked it very strong.

Oberville. What else do you remember?

Isabel. A number of equally useless things. My mind is a store-room of obsolete information.

Oberville. Why obsolete, since I am providing you with a use for it?

Isabel. At any rate, it’s open to question whether it was worth storing for that length of time. Especially as there must have been others more fitted–by opportunity–to undertake the duty.

Oberville. The duty?

Isabel. Of remembering how you like your tea.

Oberville (with a change of tone). Since you call it a duty–I may remind you that it’s one I have never asked any one else to perform.

Isabel. As a duty! But as a pleasure?

Oberville. Do you really want to know?

Isabel. Oh, I don’t require and charge you.

Oberville. You dislike as much as ever having the i‘s dotted?

Isabel. With a handwriting I know as well as yours!

Oberville (recovering his lightness of manner). Accomplished woman! (He examines her approvingly.) I’d no idea that you were here. I never was more surprised.

Isabel. I hope you like being surprised. To my mind it’s an overrated pleasure.

Oberville. Is it? I’m sorry to hear that.

Isabel. Why? Have you a surprise to dispose of?

Oberville. I’m not sure that I haven’t.

Isabel. Don’t part with it too hastily. It may improve by being kept.

Oberville (tentatively). Does that mean that you don’t want it?

Isabel. Heaven forbid! I want everything I can get.

Oberville. And you get everything you want. At least you used to.

Isabel. Let us talk of your surprise.

Oberville. It’s to be yours, you know. (A pause. He speaks gravely.) I find that I’ve never got over having lost you.

Isabel (also gravely). And is that a surprise–to you too?

Oberville. Honestly–yes. I thought I’d crammed my life full. I didn’t know there was a cranny left anywhere. At first, you know, I stuffed in everything I could lay my hands on–there was such a big void to fill. And after all I haven’t filled it. I felt that the moment I saw you. (A pause.) I’m talking stupidly.

Isabel. It would be odious if you were eloquent.